


In Which There is No I or You

by moonflowerz



Category: The Half of It (2020)
Genre: College AU, Ellie’s talked about, F/F, also fuck that guy Jason, an OC names Riley who gives Aster former baby gay wisdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowerz/pseuds/moonflowerz
Summary: Aster Flores’s first semester of college in Portland is spent two ways: yearning, and figuring herself out.— —She clicks the silver button of her yellow pen and sets it on the paper to paper to write. As she starts, the pen glides over the paper with ease, like it’s whole creation was meant to write this letter.Dear Ellie,
Relationships: Ellie Chu & Aster Flores, Ellie Chu/Aster Flores
Comments: 43
Kudos: 621





	In Which There is No I or You

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello stream The Half of It on Netflix!!
> 
> Also big thank you to lynnamon for reading over this.
> 
> And also a big fuck you to Hale for raising the bar for THOI fics before I could even do the bare minimum 😡

The door to the dorm shuts with a  _ click _ , cutting off the loud laughter and chatter in the hallway, cutting off the harsh fluorescent light beaming into her room, coating the walls and her desk in a yellow glow. The door closes, and everything is dark again, muscle memory guides her to the bed where she throws her backpack and portfolio, and she gravitates to the desk where she turns on the lamp. The chair grinds against the laminate floor as she pulls it out to sit. 

Her hands grab the dark blue notebook off to the corner of the desk, and she grabs her favorite pen, opens the book, she’s written about half way through the back already. She was determined to finish writing the other half before spring break. 

She clicks the silver button of her yellow pen and sets it on the paper to paper to write. As she starts, the pen glides over the paper with ease, like it’s whole creation was meant to write this letter. 

_Dear Ellie,_

\-- -- 

_ Dear Ellie,  _

_ It’s currently January, the snow in Oregon has been crazy. My Intro to Sculpture professor thinks we should have a snowman building competition if the snow is still around by midterms. This is the first time I’ve ever wished that global warming would progress. I’m much better on paper, with my hands and a paintbrush.  _

_ I’ve been thinking about you a lot more recently.  _

_ This guy in my Understanding Abstract class asked me out for coffee the other day. Today, I went. It wasn’t anything like when I was with you. There wasn’t that… connection. He didn’t see me. I didn’t see him.  _

_ But I saw you. And you, me.  _

_ Seeing you was like meeting a kindred spirit, a once in a lifetime opportunity, a chance that I let slip through my hands like sand.  
_

_ Maybe I’m not as good with my hands as I thought.  _

_ Love, Aster.  _

_ \-- --  _

She sighs after closing the journal, tying its leather binding and putting it back in the corner of her desk. She pulled out her laptop, put on her music and grabbed her sketchbook. The music gets muffled, once she’s in her creative headspace, her pencil slashing across the paper like a madwoman. 

It must be in her head that the music crescendos while she’s at the peak of her creative drive, because it seems to die down as she adds the finishing touches. 

Aster takes a moment, before closing her book, to look over the sketch. Trying to decide if she needs to add anything. 

The bold stroke. Is it missing a bold stroke, or would that be the death of a good drawing? 

She chews on her bottom lip, in thought, the question carries so much on it. Life and death, beginning or end. 

She closes the sketchbook. 

She has time to add a bold stroke, if she needs to. 

\-- -- 

The boy from her Abstracts class ambushes her one morning on a very cold February morning at the campus starbucks. Jason-- that’s his name, Aster’s pretty sure-- cuts her off midorder, to order his own coffee, a macchiato or something, and makes a show of extending his arm to hand over his American Express card like Aster would even care about something so shallow like that. 

Jason is the guy who comes from a family with money. Art is a hobby, and he’s only here because he’s not exactly jumping at the chance to go to school to eventually run the family business yet. Jason’s dad runs his own architecture firm, his mom is a doctor, and he likes to make sure everyone knows it. Jason likes to think he’s the life of the party, his head so far up his own ass that one time after a professor criticized his painting for having a dull color pallet, he stormed out class huffing and puffing. 

He tried to tell Aster that it proved how passionate he is, which she’s sure was supposed to mean something else. 

Jason is everything that Aster detests. Arrogant, obnoxious, narcissistic. She half tempted to ask if he may have a distant cousin in Washington named Trig. 

He pays for the coffee, and wraps an unpermitted arm around her shoulders as she starts walking to pick up her coffee. 

“So, babe, my bros from the Phi Delta Alpha frat are having a party tonight, you in?” He asks. 

Hearing him call her  _ babe _ makes her want to gag. 

One cup of coffee and this asshat thinks she’s his  _ babe _ . 

She shrugs his arm off her shoulder and put space between them. 

“Babe, what-?” 

Aster holds a hand up to pause his neanderthalic sputtering. 

“I’m not your babe. Don’t touch me without my permission,” She says, “You bought me a coffee, you’re not my boyfriend.” 

Jason sputters some more, “I- well, you- but--” 

Aster rolls her eyes, pulls out the five dollar bill in her pocket and slams it on the table besides them, “Thanks for the coffee, Jason.” 

She walks off feeling lighter, and also a little bit badass. 

\-- -- 

_ Dear Ellie,  _

_ That guy from my abstract class? A douche. I don’t even know I went to get coffee with him the first time.  _

_ I guess I’ve been much more of a follower than I thought.  _

_ I told him off though, and it felt Good (yes with a capital G.) I finally stood up for myself, and I did what I wanted, what made me happy, what made me comfortable. I used to think I wasn’t able to do that. My needs were so far down on my list of important things, it was so freeing to finally listen to myself.  _

_ If only I could go back in time and tell Trig a thing or two.  _

_ Or my father.  _

_ Or you.  _

_ Love, Aster _

_ \-- --  _

She’s falling asleep in her Art of Picture class, when there’s a tap on her shoulder that all but jolts her awake like a frightened cat. She turns to look behind her, to see a girl holding out a small folded up piece of paper. The girl wiggles the note, urging her to take it, and she does, turning back around to open it and read its contents. 

_ Party at Gamma Alpha Psi sorority  _

_ Starts at 11!  _

She slips the note into her jacket pocket, already forgetting it. Class drolls on, unfortunately, and Aster finds herself falling asleep in her seat again. 

\-- -- 

When she’s back in her dorm, changing out of her clothes to something more comfortable, the note tumbles out of her pocket and draws her attention to itself. 

She rereads it, and mulls the possibility of going to the party over. She doesn’t have assignments due tomorrow, she has virtually… no friends on campus to hang out with, why not go make some? 

She sighs and throws up her closet doors to look for an outfit. 

By the time she’s ready to go, it’s nearing eleven, and she makes her way out of the dorm and down the campus walkways to the gamma alpha psi sorority house, where the party is seemingly already in full swing when she arrives. 

There’s a group of students hanging out by the door. 

One of them cheers loudly as she approaches, “Hey, Riley! Picture Class Girl is here!” 

Aster assumes that Picture Class Girl is her. 

A girl in a beanie comes bounding out of the house from just inside and greets Aster when a head nod, “Hey.” 

“Uh, hi?” Aster replies, “I’m just here for the party, so…” She murmurs, pointing ahead. 

“Yeah, yeah, duh of course-- that’s why I, y’know invited you or whatever…” The girl rambles, and then she seems to gather her bearings and let out a breath before holding her hand out for Aster to shake. “Hi, I’m Riley.”

“Riley,” Aster repeats before shaking Riley’s hand, “I’m Aster— or I guess, Picture Class Girl.” She laughs softly. 

Riley laughs along, face turning red, “Yeah, sorry about that. It’s a lecture class, so there’s not really a chance to learn your name…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Aster says, “So, where can a girl get a drink around here?”

Riley furrows her brows, “Aren’t you a freshman?” 

Aster gives her a deadpan look, “Are you gonna ID me?” 

Riley holds her hands up in surrender, “Nevermind. Far as I’m concerned, you’re  _ twenty two _ .” 

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Aster smiles following Riley into the house that was booming with music and laughter. 

It reminds Aster why she hates parties, but the deeper into the house she goes, she begins to realize: maybe she just hates highschool parties. 

High school parties following Trig around like a lost puppy, while he mingled and chatted with everyone like he was the president. Sometimes if she looked as miserable as she really was, he pull her aside and tell her to  _ put on a smile, babe _ . As far as he was concerned, Aster was just there to make him look good, so if she didn’t look good, look as happy as could be that Trig had chosen her to be his future trophy wife— he’d remind me her there were  _ hundreds _ (more like five, but whatever) of other girls that would jump for the opportunity. 

Randomly, she wonders which girl from high school was already being his homemaker— handing him a cup of coffee in the morning and a hot plate of dinner at night. 

Aster hopes she wakes up soon. 

There’s more to life than a man. Especially a man like Trig fuckning Carson. 

Aster has to shake herself out of her thoughts— she was at a party, a  _ college  _ party, now wasn’t the time to wonder about the life of her chauvinistic ex boyfriend. 

When Riley stops walking, they’re in the kitchen of the sorority house. Riley hands her an unopened beer and a solo cup. 

“Figured you should pour it, yknow, build trust or whatever.” Riley explains. Aster nods and pours the drink into her cup without a word. 

“So, did you just invite me to give me a house tour?” Aster asks, “I didn't even think we had Greek life on campus. Is this a rush week or whatever?” 

Riley laughs, shaking her head, “No, no, not anything like that. I just… wanted to get to know you?” Riley offers, “If you’re not gay that’s fine! I’m cool with.. being friends or whatever.” 

_ If you’re not gay.  _

Aster pauses. 

Is she gay? 

Sure, when Ellie kissed her on that far away day, every nerve in her body lit up and vibrated with joy. And yeah, she couldn’t stop smiling the whole day, that afterwards her cheeks were sore. 

Kissing Ellie had turned her world from grayscale to beautiful, jarring technicolor, had made the air in her lungs feel lighter, the sun shine brighter. Aster could go on probably. 

But did that mean she was  _ gay _ ?

Her inner turmoil gets cut off when Riley clears her throat awkwardly. 

“I can’t tell if you’re having an identity crisis or repressing a homophobic rage.” She says slowly, Aster thinks she’s preparing for the worse. 

“A homophobic— no! No, no it’s not that.” Aster assures her, “I guess a crisis is more like it..” 

Riley nods, and then points with her head in the direction of the back yard, “Wanna talk about it?” 

Aster sighs, “Honestly, yes. That would be great. Afterwards we can get drunk enough to forget the whole thing.”

Riley laughs, “Works for me.” 

Riley takes her to the backyard, which is basically deserted. There’s a patio swing out in the yard, far enough away from the party inside and the few stragglers out in the yard who were smoking pot. 

Aster hums, maybe high school parties aren’t so different from college parties. 

They sit shoulder to shoulder on the small swing, watching the party continue on in front of them in silence. 

Aster feels like now is better than ever to start talking because  _ when is _ the right moment to spill your guts to a girl you just met at a sorority party that she invited you to, to hit on you? Yeah, Aster doesn’t know either. 

“I broke up with my boyfriend,” Aster starts softly, taking another drink out of her solo cup. “Before I came here, and things have been weird since.” 

Riley nods slowly, “I hear about this a lot.” She says, “The boy or girl from high school, usually doesn’t last to college— maybe the first semester but it dies out after that. My mom, she used to tell me people came into your life like the seasons. You feel like they’ve been around forever, until they're gone, and you realize how fleeting it all was. She says that they never leave without a lesson— no matter how small or big; there is  _ always  _ a lesson.” 

“I don’t know if Trig was a lesson or a wake up call.” Aster replies, “Life hasn’t been weird because I miss him or because I still love him… it’s been so weird because  _ I don’t. _ ” 

Riley’s eyebrows raise, “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Aster sighs, “ _ Oh _ .” 

“Well… how do you know you didn’t—  _ don’t  _ love him?” 

“Because I’m pretty sure I’m deeply in love with someone else. And her name is Ellie.” 

— — 

_ Dear Ellie,  _

_ How was your Valentine’s Day? _

_ Mine was… enlightening.  _

_ I met this girl, her name is Riley. She sits behind me in my art of picture class. Seems like people from my classes can’t get enough of me, huh? _

_ I’m sure if we were having a real conversation, you would’ve rolled your eyes by now.  _

_ Anyways, we talked. About me, mostly. I feel like all these days I do is just talk about me, me, me. Maybe I need to fix that.  _

_ Putting my self-improvement aside, I said something for the first time. Something I was afraid of saying. Because once you say something, it’s real. It can never be taken back- you never  _ **_unsay_ ** _ it. It’s just there, in the universe, and you’ve said it.  _

_ She kissed me, too.  _

_ It wasn’t some heart stopping, earth shattering kiss like you see in the movies. She didn’t sweep me off my feet into the best kiss of my life, she didn’t open my eyes to a world of possibility. She gave me one small peck on the lips, when we arrived at my dorm door. _

_ Contrary to my beliefs, romance isn’t dead. At least with girls it’s not.  _

_ She kissed me and it was.. not horrible. But I think with that kiss she sealed our fate. Riley could be a great friend, if she wants to be. I’m far too deep drowning in my own shit to drag her down with me. _

_ Kissing Riley… it was nothing like kissing you.  _

_ It was better than Trig or Paul sure, no offense to Paul but I’m pretty sure anyone else could kiss better than the boys in Squahamish.  _

_ But kissing you was… invigorating. I felt like I could take on the world. I felt like for once I was a whole person, Ellie. I felt like a  _ **_real_ ** _ person. I wasn’t hiding behind a mask of who people wanted me to be, I was just me, kissing you, in the middle of the street on a summer’s day in the shithole town of Squahamish, Washington.  _

_ I don’t ever want to kiss anybody like that again, Ellie.  _

_ I only want that with you.  _

_ Love, Aster.  _

— —

It’s early morning the Saturday after Valentine’s Day that Aster’s phone rings. She picks it up without checking the caller ID. She assumes it’s her dad, calling for the usual check in. 

_ “Hola, papa.”  _ Aster hums into the phone as she’s making her bed. 

_ “What? No, this isn’t your dad.”  _ The voice says, and  _ yeah _ that’s definitely not her dad.  _ “Hi. It’s uh—“  _

“Paul.” Aster responds, voice soft. “Hi, Paul.” 

_ “Hi, Aster.” _ Paul greets,  _ “I’m sorry to bother you so early in the morning, especially so randomly after like… seven months.”  _

“It’s fine, Paul, don’t worry about it. H-How are you? How are your sausages coming along?” 

_ “Oh, the sausages! They’re going great— sort of. Mom is still reluctant to try them, but she likes them so far. I’ve gotten the recipe put to a few more critics. Got invited to the Spokane Food Fair next month…”  _

“That’s good, Paul. I’m happy for you.” Aster says, a smile on her face even though Paul can’t see it. “Is there— y'know, a reason you called, or..?” 

It’s silent for a couple beats, Aster doesn’t know if the lines have been disconnected or if Paul’s hung up. She almost speaks up to reaffirm that he’s there and this entire phone call isn’t some hallucination until Paul finally replies. 

_ “I just.. wanted to check in on you. I didn’t see you around most of the summer, and..uh... Ellie’s been away in Iowa… I wanted to make sure you weren’t as alone as I think you are.”  _ Paul says, voice nervous. 

Aster feels her heart clench at his thoughtfulness. She’s a little sorry that she could never make herself have feelings for him. She wonders if it’s any consolation to him that if she could, she would still think someone else deserved him more. 

“I-I’m doing good, Paul, thanks for asking.” 

_ “I feel guilty.”  _ Paul blurts out,  _ “About everything that happened last year. And I never got to apologize.”  _

“Oh,” Aster says, a bit taken back but the outburst, “Paul, you don’t—“ 

_ “No, I do.”  _ Paul insisted,  _ “I thought I loved you, and I thought the only way to get you to love me back was to lie to you, Aster. Finding out that… the version of me you thought I was didn’t exist must’ve hurt. And I don’t want to be the guy who hurts anyone because of a want of selfish gain. I really am so sorry, Aster.”  _

“I was hurt,” Aster finally admits, “I don’t think I’ve ever actually acknowledged that. It hurt a lot, Paul, but not because of you, no offense.” 

_ “What do you mean?” _

“I met Ellie,” Aster says, “I met Ellie and the moment her fingers brushed mine in that hallway, I-I couldn’t get her out of my head. And then I got your letter, and I told myself whatever I was feeling for Ellie; it wasn’t real. It was a mistake, a  _ sin _ . And I thought  _ hey, here’s this boy that seemingly checks all the boxes on my list— let’s see where it goes _ because I was a coward making excuses.” 

Paul doesn’t reply, so Aster takes it as the go ahead to keep talking. 

“I’ve never felt anything in my entire life the way I feel about Ellie. It was new, it was exciting, it was  _ scary _ . I’ve never been so shaken to my core like that. I’ve been scared of being scared, but Ellie taught me to embrace the fear. I had to learn it wasn’t my enemy, it’s my friend.” 

Aster sighs, realizing she’s rambling, “Paul, I’m gay.” 

And just like that, it’s said. 

Out in the universe. 

She can’t control, Z, and forget it was said. 

“I’m a lesbian, and I fell in love with Ellie.” Aster breathes out, like she’s dawning on a concept that had so eluded her for some time— and honestly, it had. 

_ “O-Oh,”  _ Is all Paul says,  _ “Okay. Will you call her, then?”  _

“Call who?” 

_ “Ellie.” _

“I-I don’t know about that, Paul. It’s been seven months, and I’m just figuring myself out. I don’t think—“

_ “She wants you to call. She’s been waiting for you to call.”  _

“Oh.” 

_ “I’ll text you her number.”  _ Paul says, deciding for her,  _ “You probably never even had it, anyways.”  _

Aster doesn’t get to respond before Paul is hanging up and leaving her by herself, in her dorm room where she just uncovered the greatest mystery about herself. 

She’s a lesbian. 

Before she can even really process it at all she’s at her desk, throwing her binded book open and scribbling the first words of her letter. 

_ Dear Ellie,  _

— —

_ Dear Ellie,  _

_ I came out to someone today.  _

_ It was Paul, of all people.  _

_ Paul Munsky knows something about me that I’ve been trying to figure out since I could walk.  _

_ I’m a lesbian.  _

_ I, Aster Flores, am a lesbian.  _

_ I’m a lesbian and I’m in love with you.  _

_ Who needs to beat around the bush anymore? I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since that first letter where you knocked off that quote from the French movie.  _

_ I hope you don’t mind if I steal some words too.  _

_ Pablo Neruda once wrote, “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.” _

_ And I finally get it. That feeling of whiplash, of connectedness. That feeling you get when the last puzzle piece fits perfectly into the frame.  _

_ That feeling of finally achieving the bold stroke.  _

_ I love you, Ellie Chu. And if you find yourself in Squahamish this summer, I want you to know I’ll be waiting for you, at  _ **_our_ ** _ spot, with my radio and some godforsaken taco sausages. _

_ You’re my bold stroke, Ellie. You’re the focal point of the whole painting.  _

_ And when you get this, if you ever bother reading it, I just want you to know that falling in love with you was the scariest thing I have ever done. And I’m so grateful for that.  _

_ With all my love, _

_ Aster.  _

She closes the book, ties the leather bind around it once more, and opens the top drawer of her desk. The drawer held only one thing in it for the past seven months: a Manila envelope big enough for her book of letters, with Ellie’s address on it. 

She puts it in the envelope, seals it shut, and in the morning she would deliver it to the mailbox, the book and her heart in one. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me how ya feel on twitter @disasterflores
> 
> c u nxt time <3


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